


I Might Be Bad, But I’m Perfectly Good At It

by OriginalCeenote



Series: Be My Guest [4]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Clint Siphons Off Bucky's Negative Emotions and Gets High Off of Them, Clothes Sharing, Coffee, Crunchberries the Breakfast of Champions, Demon!Clint, Facebook Reunion Invitations, Going to the DMV Sucks, Lonely Bucky, M/M, Sad!Bucky, Summoning a Demon to Cuddle with is Valid AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-10 23:08:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16464113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote
Summary: “I thought you humans thought it was impolite to ask somebody their age.”Bucky snorted. “Why? Are demons sensitive about that?” But that gave him pause. Did hereallywant to offend Clint?But when he glanced back at Clint, who was working his way through a too-full bowl of Crunch Berries and whole milk, he was smirking up at him.“Nah. Fuckin’ with you, bro.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I still have no clue what I’m doing with this. But LA Comic-Con just came and went, I’m done costuming for a while, and I have more time to write. If you’re still reading this series, I appreciate you.

“Clint? What’re you doing?”

“Numfum,” he mumbled around a mouthful of something, hovering over the edge of the refrigerator door. He licked the spoon he was eating from and backed up to show Bucky the white container. 

Bucky paled, rushing forward to take the expired cottage cheese from his hand. “Damn it, Clint! I don’t even remember when I bought that! Don’t eat that! I just went shopping! Fuck.” Clint stared at him in confusion and disappointment as he plucked the container and spoon from his grip, throwing one in the garbage and the other in the sink.

“I thought it tasted a little sharp. It was fine to me, though.”

“M’sorry. Hey, just… watch out for the labels. I promise that on my end, I’ll clean out the fridge more often. Fuck. Sorry. M’sorry.”

“Buck-O, I couldn’t even tell the difference. C’mon. Your adrenaline’s spiking again. Just chill. What else have we got?”

Bucky tugged on his ponytail absently. “Cereal.” He nodded to the cupboard, and Clint flung open its doors. His face lit up at the sight of the Cap’n Crunch box, new and unopened.

“Sweet!” 

The cereal clattered cheerfully into the bowl while Bucky started the pot of coffee, just the way they both liked it: “Dark as my soul,” Clint had described the first time Bucky asked him. 

“We’re gonna get along fine.”

“Well, you knew that right off the bat, pal.”

While the Starbucks Morning Joe grounds released tempting, nutty aroma into Bucky’s tiny kitchen, he puttered around, righting the clutter and dirty dishes from the night before.

“Did you really go through this many pizza pockets?”

“I was hungry. Didn’t feel like going out for takeout. I’m due to recharge soon,” Clint admitted. Bucky noticed he was looking a little glowy around the eyes again, and a few of his scales were showing. He looked like any average mortal after a rough bender the night before.

“Can we do a few things before you go?”

“What’d you have in mind?”

“Errands?” Bucky asked hopefully.

“Sure.”

“Even if one of them’s the DMV?” Bucky asked hopefully.

Clint’s shoulders slumped dramatically, and he tossed his spoon onto the counter. Bucky bit back a snicker.

“Aw, Buck, no!”

“C’mon, man! I’ve gotta renew my license!”

“Can’t you do that online?”

“No. My ATM card got lost. I had to call my bank to replace it, and I don’t get the new card with the new number until two weeks from now, and my license is already expired. I’ve gotta travel for business next month, so I need it as quickly as I can get it.”

Clint shuddered. “Dude. The DMV _sucks._ ”

“I know, I know… it’s just. I get. Anxious.”

Clint’s shoulders fell another notch. “Buck-O…”

“I know. I know. I suck for asking…”

“No. You don’t. You really don’t. It’s just… it’s the DMV. I might’ve. Y’know.”

Clint looked away, rubbing his nape.

“Might’ve what?”

“Might’ve. Made. Some. Enemies there.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “Oh, I’ve gotta hear this.”

Clint gave him a pleading look. “Do you?”

“Clint. C’mon, man…” Bucky bumped his shoulder into his playfully. Mischief shone in his eyes, making them bright as diamonds. Clint couldn’t resist that look.

“A friend of my brother’s works there,” he admitted. “And, y’know. It’s a small world. You know people. Friends of friends.”

Bucky leaned forward against the kitchen counter, and his smirk widened a notch.

“And I might have. Accidentally…”

“Oh, my God…”

“I didn’t know she was his girlfriend!”

“OH, MY GOD, CLINT!”

“Quit saying that!”

Bucky covered his mouth, but his eyes were still wide. Then he considered everything that Clint told him. “Wait. So. Friend of your brother’s…”

Clint let out a gusty sigh. “Yeah.”

“So. That. That means that… a demon works at my DMV?”

“Dude. You have _no idea_. Half the assholes who work there are demons or dead souls.”

Bucky opened his mouth, then closed it.

“I mean. Are you _surprised?_ ”

“...no?”

Clint snorted and gestured to the coffee pot, which hissed and bubbled as the last jet of brew filtered down into it, signaling that it was time for them to get their fix. Bucky grabbed two mugs from the cupboard and filled them both to brimming before handing Clint’s over. They moaned obscenely in unison at the first sip.

“I know it ain’t up t’me, Barnes, but bless your sweet soul.”

“Hm.”

Bucky smirked over the edge of his cup, then shrugged. Clint shrugged back.

“Well, I do. I wish I could.”

“A guy has to take whatever he can get.”

“Yeah. Guess we do.”

“Hey. It just occurred to me.”

“Uh-oh.”

“What do you mean, ‘uh-oh?’”

“Those six little words are usually a lie. Because a) it’s probably something you’ve been chewing on for a while, and it just bit you in the ass to mention it now, while my guard’s down, and b) it’s usually the opener for a bad idea. Trust me when I tell you that I can see those coming from miles away, pal.”

“Awwwww! No! No, Clint!”

Clint raised his brow. Bucky snickered, scrunching his nose in that little way that Clint loved but would never admit.

“It’s just… I was wondering, how the hell old are you?”

“I thought you humans thought it was impolite to ask somebody their age.”

Bucky snorted. “Why? Are demons sensitive about that?” But that gave him pause. Did he _really_ want to offend Clint?

But when he glanced back at Clint, who was working his way through a too-full bowl of Crunch Berries and whole milk, he was smirking up at him.

“Nah. Fuckin’ with you, bro.”

“Seriously, though. How old are you?”

Clint shrugged as he munched on a mouthful. “Got me. I mean. Maybe I’m not “in the beginning, there was only darkness” old, but. I dunno. I’ve lived through a lot of wars. I saw the Romans build the Colosseum. The Irish potato famine. The Spanish Inquisition. I couldn’t even tell you how much of that happened before I fell.”

Bucky didn’t realize his hand was shaking until he felt the first hot splash of coffee land on his shirt. “Fuck,” he hissed.

“You okay?” Ciint’s brows furrowed.

“Yeah, I’m. Yeah. It’s just… you said, before you _fell_.”

“Yeah.”

“Like, you-”

“Twice.”

Bucky was silent. Clint took advantage of the pause in his little interview to slurp the speckled milk up from the bowl, crunching stray bits of cereal as he went. But when he set it down on the counter, Bucky’s appearance shocked him up from his seat. “Buck! Buck-O? You okay?”

“Y-you f-fff-fell t-tw-tw-twi-twice…”

“Hey. Bucky. You mind taking a deep breath for me, pal? Huh? Don’t. Don’t do that. Don’t look like that. You’re thinking about this too hard.”

“C-Clint…”

“You’re looking a little too gray. Not your color. Trust me. C’mon, sweetheart, let it go.” Clint took Bucky by the shoulders once he set his coffee mug down, not wanting him to burn himself again. “Bucky. Hey. It’s me. Your old pal, Clentehalzebub. The guy who should probably be paying you rent.” He gave him a little shake. “Bucky. _Bucky._ Fuck. Your aura’s shooting up fireworks again, and while I’m enjoying the show, your heart shouldn’t be beating that fast. Not a good look on you mortals, okay?” Clint passed his palm before Bucky’s face, trying to get him to respond. Bucky’s gray eyes were alarmingly blank. Haunted.

“Okay. New rule.” Clint snapped his fingers in front of Bucky’s face, then decided stronger measures were needed. He reached for a lock of Bucky’s hair and gave it a firm yank.

“OW! FUCK! CLINT!”

“M’sorry. That… that sucked. I’m an asshole. Look. I had to bring you out of it. Don’t. Maybe don’t scare me like that. But yeah, new rule. No more overthinking things. There’s gotta be a cap on the things that you ask me. There are things that you, as a mortal, aren’t gonna be able to comprehend. Like, how long til the world ends, or what heaven feels like when you die, or why Mondays suck more than any other day of the week. Or, or, when you finally get good and tucked into bed and as comfortable as you’re gonna get for the night in bed, why your bladder picks just that moment to decide you hafta pee. Those are the mysteries I don’t wanna try to explain to you, and that I don’t want rolling around in your head. Leave that box locked up tight, Buck-O. Okay?”

Bucky was slowly drifting back to him, shaking his head. His eyes were a little watery, but no longer glazed. Clint realized his own pulse might have tripled a few moments ago, and in his panic, his tail extended behind him. He scolded it silently. _Calm the fuck down. Knock that shit off, awright?! He’s scared enough._

“That. That was kind of terrifying,” Bucky admitted. “Clint? Can I-”

“Oh, fuck. Sure. C’mere.” Clint gathered him close, and Bucky’s arms tightened around him, warm and possessive. Protective. Which… kind of blew Clint’s mind.

“I know, okay?” Bucky’s voice was wet. “I mean, I know I fucked up. I fucked around with things that I didn’t understand, and I’m gonna pay for it one of these days. And that scares me shitless.”

“Sweetheart, don’t. Just. Take a minute.”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t keep… doing this to myself.”

“It’s a lot to unpack.”

“Yeah.”

Clint rubbed his back soothingly, and a broken sob escaped Bucky. And Clint felt at once lush with Bucky’s dark emotions, feeling himself billowing with power from their energy, and guilty as a motherfucker for enjoying this. Not the plight of his sadness, but how it _nourished_ him. 

“I get that you’re old. It’s just. You. You fell.”

Clint winced.

“You fell,” Bucky repeated.

“Yeah. I did.”

“You lived through that.”

“Kinda.”

Bucky felt Clint’s fingers, gentle as they crept into his hair, and his muscles relaxed as he stroked it, letting his fingernails scritch over his scalp. Bucky’s sigh was shaky as it escaped him, and he still held Clint tightly, both to ground himself and to convey feelings that he still didn’t quite understand. 

“You don’t have to pity me, y’know.”

“I can’t. Not.”

“‘Kay. Fine. It’s. That’s fine.”

It wasn’t. _Fuck._

“You can summon me. That’s how this works,” Clint murmured softly. “But, here’s the thing. You don’t get too _attached_ to me. Understand?”

Bucky tensed, but to Clint’s relief, he nodded against his shoulder.

Clint felt Bucky’s aura brushing over him, like standing next to someone wearing a silk scarf on a windy day. It kept tickling him, soft, innocent, just enough to catch his attention.

Clint reached back into that feedback loop of sensation, tugging on Bucky’s pheromones and shifting his seratonin levels. All the while, he just kept rubbing his back and stroking that gorgeous, thick hair. Bucky was shivering. Clint raised his own body temperature to warm him and settle him down, and the effects were immediate. It felt like dirty pool, pulling that trick, but.

Bucky needed it. And Clint needed to lie to himself a little longer that he could do Bucky some good. 

Even though it was his job to be bad. The worst, even.

By the time Clint released Bucky and had absorbed the worst of his negative emotions, their coffee was lukewarm. Bucky reheated it in the microwave, handed Clint his mug, and let his eyes flit over Clint.

He looked stronger. No more visible scales, and his tail had retracted. His eyes were that clear, beautiful robin’s egg blue again, and he gave Bucky a serene smile.

“Change your shirt. Then we can head to the DMV.”

“Fine with me. Comb your hair, though. Looks like you had a hot date with a ceiling fan.”

“It always looks like that.”

“Maybe you could wear a hat.”

 

They made it out of the apartment without further incident. “I’m gonna hafta stop at the bank, of course, and get out some cash,” Bucky reminded him as he locked the door behind them. Clint had on one of Bucky’s dark knit beanies, a purple shirt with a target logo printed on it, battered jeans - Bucky’s again, because they were his favorite, now - and a quilted flannel shirt that kept out the worst of the winter breeze.

“I’ve been hanging out here with you all this time, and I just realized… I don’t even know your birthday.”

Bucky huffed, and a slow smirk spread across his face. “So, you don’t know everything.”

“Hey. I never said I did. You just _assumed_.”

“Well, like I said, my license just expired, so it just went by.”

“When?” Irritation crept into Clint’s voice.

“March tenth.”

“Well, _fuck!_ ” Clint threw up his hands. “That’s a fine how-do-you-do! Friends don’t just hold out on that kind of information!”

“It’s not like I was gonna do anything for it, anyway…”

“Bucky! That’s not cool! I would’ve totally been down for doing something on your birthday! I mean, even some celebratory pizza would’ve been in order. Or karaoke. I would’ve totally dedicated a song to you.”

“Heaven help us all…”

“HEY! I resent that!”

“Can’t imagine why.” But Bucky was enjoying himself as they headed downstairs. The afternoon sunshine was bright, despite the remainder of dirty snow on the ground. 

“I would’ve done something, y’know.”

“I know that.”

“I mean, it’s your birthday.”

“I know that.”

“I mean, I’m not a _complete_ asshole.”

“Eh.” Bucky raised his brow and shoulder-checked Clint. Clint caught himself and gave Bucky a light kick.

Bucky felt himself jerked back, thrown a little by the halt in his momentum as the rest of the foot traffic in front of them proceeded across the street. “There’s only three seconds left,” Clint chided. “And it’s one of those wide-ass streets.”

“No one’s gonna hit us,” Bucky argued.

“This is New York, pal. Quit giving people so much credit.”

Bucky snorted. Clint hit the walk light button. Then, he hit it about ten more times when Bucky gave him a beleaguered look, just because he could. Once the rush of cars flew around the right turn in front of them, the little walking man appeared, and Bucky felt Clint wrap his fingers around his hand.

“Seriously, Clint?!”

“Look both ways! Safety first! Pick a safety buddy!” Clint dramatically skipped, dragging Bucky along with him and earning annoyed and amused looks from the rest of the commuters on the crosswalk.

“I can’t take you anywhere, dude.”

 

They made it to the DMV when half the seats in the waiting area filled up and took a number. “G7,” Clint announced cheerfully. “Only three hours to go!”

“The line’s moving,” Bucky told him. They sat down in an unoccupied row of seats. Despite Bucky’s earlier confidence, his leg began to jitter. He peeled off his hat and gloves, unknotted his scarf, and unbuttoned his jacket.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. S’hot in here.”

“Demons run warm,” Clint reminded him.

Bucky chuckled and gave Clint’s foot a tiny kick.

“Well, we do.”

Bucky took out his phone and checked his Facebook updates. “Shit. I forgot. I’ve got my high school reunion next month.”

“Is that a big deal?”

“No. Well, yeah. I don’t know. I wasn’t even really planning on going. But. I don’t know.”

“Eh. Why not?”

“It’s more Steve’s kinda thing. If he was here, he’d get all excited and buy us tickets whether I wanted to go or not.”

“So, what, though? You’d get to hang out with the people you went to high school with?”

“Some of them sucked.”

“But, not all of them, right?”

“I guess. I mean, I talk to them on Facebook already, anyway.”

“Well, check in with them in person. Show ‘em how you’re doing, Buck-O.”

Bucky shrugged. “It’s just not my thing. I don’t even have a...date.”

Before he even got the word out of his mouth, Clint solemnly raised his hand.

“Clint. Buddy. You don’t have to do that.”

“Why not? Are you kidding? Bucky. Look. This is one of those things that’s part of the job description. Warm those icicle feet of yours in the middle of the night. Keep you company at the DMV. Pick up takeout when you’re feeling too down to cook. And be your date for your high school reunion.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be a ‘date,’ date.”

“Pffft. Well, no _shit_.” Clint gave Bucky his best _Get the fuck outta here_ expression and shrugged. “It’ll be totally chill. I’ll put on the nicest thing you own -”

“I haven’t even said we’re going, and can’t we get you something of your own?”

“Hey. I can rock that blue shirt of yours. It works with my eyes.”

That wasn’t a lie. Bucky still gave him a dubious look.

“C’mon. Please?”

“Clint. No.”

“No?! Aw! Bucky, no! Please? Pretty please??”

“No, Clint.”

“C’mon!”

“No.”

“With sugar on top? And nachos?”

“NnnnOPE.”

“Don’t be such a poop!”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Dude…”

“This happens, what? Every ten years? That’s a landmark in your life. Milestones, right? You mortals love your milestones.”

“Overpriced alcohol, a tasteless dinner, bad DJs, and listening to people talk about all the shit that they’ve accomplished that you haven’t doesn’t make a milestone.”

“There might be people who are genuinely interested to know how you’re faring, buddy. Trust me. People like you. A _lot_.”

Bucky felt himself flush. He clicked off his phone and shoved it into his jacket pocket.

“They do,” Clint urged. “You’re a pretty nice guy. Maybe you don’t think I’m a good judge of that sort of thing, but I am.”

Clint continued to harangue Bucky with pleas, promises, half-empty threats (“I’ll tell Wanda that you swiped her last dryer sheet when you were washing your whites!”), and puppy dog eyes that were surprisingly persuasive. Bucky felt his resolve weakening.

“Would we have to stay there that long?”

Clint’s face broke into a grin that spelled instant regret for Bucky. But. That was still. Really cute.

“I’ll be such a good date!”

“It’s not a date!”

“Whatever! Plus one. However you wanna put me down in the guest book.”

“Fuck,” Bucky muttered.

“Buck-O. We’re gonna have a blast.”

Before Bucky could tick off the miles-long list of reasons why they wouldn’t do any such thing, the electronic voice called their number as it flashed across the screen.

Bucky scooped up his warm weather gear and clutched the slip that he filled out for his renewal and Clint scuttled behind him, glancing around nervously.

“You okay?”

“Right as rain.”

Bucky greeted the clerk, not noticing that Clint had donned a pair of dark sunglasses behind him and that he was shrugging more deeply into his flannel. “Hi. I need to renew my license. Uh. It kinda expired. And I need to pay cash,” he explained before the clerk could ask why he didn’t use the drop box or go online, instead of wasting her precious time.

“Ah. It’s good to get a jump on that before that happens, sir.”

“Sorry.”

“No worries. Any tags to renew?”

“No. My roommate owned the car, but he sold it before he left.”

She gave him a snooty look over the rims of her glasses. Then, her eyes swiveled toward Clint, and her brows rose.

“Do you need help, sir?”

“No. Uh, no. Nope. I’m with him.”

“Really.”

Clint reached up and scratched his neck.

“He’s just keeping me company,” Bucky offered. “And support.”

“Yeah. Like a support animal,” Clint added.

Bucky bit his lip. She didn’t look amused. She just scanned through her computer for Bucky’s information, typing it in as she read if off his expired card. 

“Just like an animal,” she muttered aloud. “That’s the closest to the truth that I’ve ever heard fly out of your filthy mouth, Clentehalzebub. Still among the living, disappointing your ancestors?”

Bucky stepped back from her glassed-in counter. Clint looked sheepish.

“How’s it goin’, Esmeralda?”

“You’d know if you’d ever thought to call.”

“It’s not like you can’t find me.”

“Oh, that’s rich.”

“We’re connected through the Void,” Clint muttered.

“Says the guy who thinks connections only happen with Legos. Look, kid,” she told Bucky, “I don’t know how or why you threw your lot in with _this_ guy. You didn’t summon him with blood, did you?”

“Uh.”

“Wow. Oh, wow. What a disaster. You did. What’s with you young people and casting spells that you don’t understand? Back in the day, your parents, grandparents, and great, great, great, great grandparents were just kitchen witches. They stayed in their lane. They knew something about risks, and they _didn’t risk it_. What’s wrong with you young ones today?”

“Hey. Give him a break. And, look. He just had a birthday.”

“Of course you did.” She was used to hearing that at her counter. Her eyes briefly glowed yellow. She shoved Bucky’s slip back at him. “You forgot to sign this.”

“Sure. You want him to _sign_ something,” Clint mocked.

“Fuck you,” she hissed. Bucky winced, but took the pen and scrawled his loopy signature on the line. “You. Step back behind that line, and I’ll take your picture. Fix your hair. You’re stuck with this thing for five years.”

Bucky automatically reached for his hair. “Is it good?” He turned to Clint. “Is it all right?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

Before Bucky could turn and smile properly, he heard her bland “Cheese!” and felt the flash hit him in the face.

*

 

Three weeks later, he opened the envelope and stared down at the card in dismay.

“This is the worst one yet. I’m gonna have to show this to people in stores.”

“I’ve seen worse. Hey. Have we got anymore pizza pockets?”


	2. Only When I’m Dancin’ Can I Feel This Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s funny,” Bucky murmured as he sipped his lemon drop martini. “I used to think that Mr. Schmidt was the Anti-Christ.”
> 
> “Nope,” Clint assured him. “Minor demon. He loved the lack of impulse control from the high school demographic. Made it a helluva lot easier to do his job, y’know?”
> 
> Bucky’s eyes bulged. “Seriously?”
> 
> “Yup.”
> 
> “You’re shitting me.”
> 
> “I shit you not.” Clint gulped down his Gummy Bear shot and shrugged his shoulders.
> 
> “That. That explains so much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m enjoying this ‘verse. Goodness only knows why. I know it’s cracky, and I’m horrible, but thanks for sticking around.
> 
> More familiar faces, coming up.

“Buck-O? We got any towels?” Bucky heard the water being slapped off through the bathroom door while he ironed his and Clint’s shirts, dressed only in his boxers and undershirt.

“We should. I hung one up in there this morning.”

“Yeah? Well. I might’ve used that one this afternoon.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and shut off the iron, setting it upright before he headed toward the hamper. Sure enough, there was the blue bath towel in question, wadded up in a heap and still damp and musty-smelling.

“Why, dude?” Bucky muttered. He headed for the linen closet in the hall and pulled out the last clean, dry towel, threadbare and stained, but good enough for the moment. Bucky knocked on the bathroom door, and Clint peaked his dripping head out. His dark blond hair hung in floppy, wet spikes around his face. He had a tiny, bleeding cut from shaving in the shower, right on the side of his jaw. The whole room reeked of Axe body wash and steam. Bucky held up the towel, shaking at him.

“Last one. Hang this one up.”

“I didn’t bring my clothes in here,” Clint reminded him.

“Well, make the trip back when you’re dressed!”

Clint batted his lashes at Bucky and made kissy faces at him as he snatched the towel. “See? You _do_ love me.”

“*Pfffft*”

“Can’t hide the love inside,” Clint crooned as he shut the bathroom door in his face.

“Keep dreamin,’ pal!”

Bucky heard Clint whistling to himself behind the door - who even knew demons whistled? - as he went to the closet to pull out the iron and ironing board. Both of the shirts he’d picked out for himself and Clint were hopelessly wrinkled, since Bucky didn’t always get to his clean laundry basket all at once. Folding was low on his list of priorities even on a _good_ day, and on a typical day, well. It fell somewhere between mopping under the refrigerator and clipping his toenails. Bucky laid out the first shirt, a soft, teal buttondown, and mashed the creases out of the front panels, steering the iron neatly between the buttons on high steam. 

Bucky hadn’t even showered yet. His hair still felt greasy and lank, scooped back from his face in a halfhearted ponytail that still allowed shorter tendrils to hang down into his eyes. His gut roiled with nerves all afternoon while he vacillated between curiosity about how his oldest acquaintances were doing as Real Adults, and abject dread that they’d want to hear about _his life_. And all day long, Clint just bubbled with excitement that did nothing but make Bucky questions his decision to RSVP yes to the whole disaster-in-waiting in the first place. 

Clint sailed out of the bathroom, narrow hips wrapped in the battered towel and still dripping heedlessly on Bucky’s parquet floors.

“Shit… Clint! Dry off a little before you just go walking through the house!”

“What’s the big deal?”

“The floors will warp if they get too wet!”

“Aw, no! Seriously? Are they that flimsy?”

“In _this_ building? It’s practically held together with masking tape and bubble gum, buddy.”

“Calm your tits,” Clint muttered, rolling his eyes right before he whipped off the towel and then dragged it along the spattered trail with his foot. “Happy now?”

“Geez…” Bucky clapped his palm over his eyes at the first glance of Clint’s man bits. He felt his cheeks go up in flames. “That was… unnecessary.”

“Well, you sure made it sound like a big deal, Barnes!”

“Will you just _go put on some pants?!_ ”

Bucky heard the swish of the towel and chanced peeking through a crack between his fingers. Clint chuckled, retying the towel around his waist. “You bashful?”

“C’mon, man…”

“Just messin’ with ya. Lighten up, Buck-O. Take it easy. It’s just skin. You mortals _like_ skin.”

“There’s rules. I don’t… just randomly drop my towel around my friends.”

“Maybe with some friends, you _should_ ,” Clint teased. He waggled his brows and made shooty fingers at him. “Seriously. You should do more of that.”

Bucky huffed and ducked his face, resuming his ironing in indignant strokes.

“Buck. Buck-O. Buckster. Buckmeister. C’mon. ‘Fess up. When was the last time you played Hide the Zucchini?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Fuck. _That_ long?”

“Clint. Just. Go. Get dressed.”

Clint hmphed under his breath, then sighed heavily before he closed the bedroom door. “That’s what premium cable’s for. And Tinder.”

“I know what Tinder’s for, and I _know better!_ ”

Clint wasn’t helping matters if he was just gonna keep doing that, Bucky groused to himself. Clint was _very proportionate_ and the carpet definitely matched the curtains. Bucky’s discretion was thin as one hour-old ice. Bucky went back to ironing the shirts, adding extra spray starch on the collars and cuffs. Maybe they’d have a shitty time. Maybe he’d regret the effort a half an hour into the night. But _fuck_ if they wouldn’t look sharp.

“Can I wear your black slacks?”

“Wear the gray ones, please.”

“Gray? Really?”

“They’ll work with the shirt.”

“I’ll end up looking too much like a ‘spring.’”

“Because you _are_ a spring.”

“You think so?”

“Clint. C’mon. You’re definitely a spring.”

“Huh. Never woulda thought that.”

“Dude. Think about it. Look at all that lilac purple that you like. And the periwinkle blue.”

“They bring out my eyes.”

“Exactly. You’re a _spring_.”

“Huh.” Clint sounded intrigued, and maybe even a little pleased to Bucky’s ears. The bedroom door clicked and Clint appeared clad only in boxers and socks, hair still disheveled but gleaming and clean. Bucky still felt an uncomfortable little stab of arousal at the sight of all that bare skin, muscular limbs and taut, perfect abs. “Really? Spring?”

“Really.”

“Wow. Okay. Okay. So. Gray pants?”

“How about _some_ pants?”

“Fine,” Clint groaned as he wandered back from the door frame. Bucky heard him yank the slacks in question from the hanger. “These?”

“Yep.”

“You’re sure my ass looks okay in these?”

“One hundred percent positive.”

Clint began to hop into them, getting his feet tangled in the cuffs.

“Doing that one leg at a time helps,” Bucky suggested.

“I know how pants work… oh, shit!” Clint tipped over sideways. “I meant to do that…”

“You dork.”

Clint continued to hop until he worked the waistband up over his hips. “Please tell me these aren’t wool.”

“Don’t like wool?”

“Not a fan.”

“Far as I know, those are a rayon blend. Might even be a little flammable. But they should be comfy.”

“Nice. Nice and smooth. Hm.” Clint turned around and glanced down in the mirror at himself. “Okay.” He gave Bucky a thumbs-up. “Okay! Ass looks good! Check. Bring on the shirt!”

“Grab an undershirt out of the drawer. This one’s thin enough to make you look nippley.” 

“Works for me.”

Bucky tossed him the shirt, and Clint disappeared into the bedroom again to finish getting dressed. Bucky took his own shirt into the bathroom with him, hanging it from the peg on the back of the door. He retrieved Clint’s towel, which he still hadn’t brought back and rehung. Bucky didn’t relish the prospect of drying off on a damp towel, but what could you do? 

Bucky cursed under his breath when the spray hit him, barely more than lukewarm. “Thanks for nothing, pal,” he muttered under his breath. Clint enjoyed his showers long and blisteringly hot. He also loved Bucky’s toiletries, and it was hitting Bucky hard in the pocket to have to buy twice as much. Yet, it appealed to him to catch a whiff of those familiar scents when Clint was within arm’s reach. It felt comfortable. Intimate. It made the same warm, weird little feelings squirm in Bucky’s chest whenever Clint wore his clothes.

Bucky pondered this while he washed his hair, running his fingers through the damp snarls. In hindsight, he should have gotten it cut, but even the mere concept made him feel like a fraud. Bucky wasn’t the same clean-scrubbed guy in his old yearbook photo with a list of superlatives and sports teams after his name. He was more like the guy who kept his Facebook statuses cryptic and brief, avoided posting selfies, and left his relationship status as “complicated” whether he was dating anyone or not. His homepage said he studied at NYU, but he left the degree and program blank. For reasons.

Bucky heard the squeal of the bathroom door hinge, and before he could protest, he saw Clint’s wavy, teal and gray silhouette through the clear shower curtain. “So. Buck-O. Be honest. Whaddya think? Are you really feeling this?”

“Clint, I’ll be out in a m-”

The shower curtain rings hissed impatiently across the rod as Clint yanked the curtain aside to give Bucky - and perhaps himself - a better look. “C’mon. Is this working?”

“GAHHHHH!”

“Whoa. Hey. You’ve got an inny. S’cute. So. Is it a go?”

Bucky’s knees knocked together and his hands flew down to cup his junk, shielding it from Clint’s gaze. “Damn it, Clint!”

“You can’t get a good look at me through that thing,” Clint pointed out.

“That’s. That’s not the point. It’s. You. _Fuck._ ”

“We’re both boys,” Clint pointed out. “Ain’t much different than the locker room at the gym.”

Bucky didn’t feel like explaining to him that he averted his eyes every time he saw any of the middle-aged or retired dudes wandering up to the bench, bare, hairy skin on display and rearranged by gravity who would then ask him what time it was or where he bought his kicks, forcing him to make eye contact. Bucky didn’t do “randomly naked with strangers.” Unless it was less “random” and they were less “strange.”

Yes, Bucky had to be _sleeping_ with them, okay? Sheesh. The rest of the time, it just squicked him out.

“It’s getting drafty, Clint.”

“I see that. You’re standing up at attention, there. The twins are glad to see me…”

“CLINT!”

“So, the outfit works?” Clint held his arms up, a gesture to check him out, and he did a little turn. “My ass look okay?”

Bucky gave a gruff little nod, then gestured for Clint to vamoose.

“Okay. Good. We’re good. You gonna be long?”

“Can I finish my shower in peace?”

“Feel free.” Clint turned on his heel and yanked the door shut. Bucky indignantly snatched the curtain back into place, hating the effect the chilly air had on his damp flesh. Bucky ducked his head under the spray and wished for a moment that it could just drown him.

Minutes later, he stood in the bathroom mirror, making a valiant effort with his hair. Clint poked his head around the doorframe and whistled outright.

“Well, _fuck._ ”

Bucky glanced over his shoulder and raised his brow, and the hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “What?”

“I see why you wanted the black slacks all to yourself.”

Bucky crinkled his nose and snickered.

“So, this is you, all spit-polished.”

“I do okay.”

“You clean up nice. I mean, it’s a little ‘emo, dark and broody,’ but. That’s. Not a bad thing on you. It kinda works.”

Bucky huffed and went back to his hair, deciding against another ponytail that would gradually fray and work its way back into his eyes, anyway. 

Clint folded his arms and continued to watch him. “You don’t want anyone getting too close, do you?”

“I like boundaries,” Bucky admitted. “I’m not much of a hugger.”

“Except with me.”

“Except with you,” Bucky allowed. “And with Steve or my parents.”

“What makes Steve special?”

“He’s just Steve.”

“Real paragon of virtue, huh?”

“You might agree if you met him.”

“Will I?”

Bucky blanched. His hand hovered over the tub of hair gel for a moment before he scooped some up.

“I don’t know.”

“Depends on how long you need me, right?”

“Or maybe whenever you get another assignment, right? I mean, anyone can summon you, right?”

Clint rocked back on his heels.

“Whoa. Slow down there, Buck-O. I mean. Yes. They can. Sort of. They can summon me. But it’s still kinda up to me if I go.”

“Is it?”

Clint opened his mouth, then closed it. “Well, no. I don’t really have that kind of control over that. But. Whatever. Yadda, yadda, yadda. There are _rules_.”

“You keep talking about these rules, but you still haven’t really spelled them out.”

“We’ll get to it. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Or however much time Bucky had left, neither of them said.

“Hey,” Clint just realized. “Do you not _want_ me to meet Steve-O?”

Bucky flinched.

“Clint…”

“I mean, I get it. He’s good. Right? You have strong feelings about him. He’s important.”

“Well, he is, but-”

“And you’re worried I might rub off on him, somehow. That I could corrupt him. Or, that he might feel differently about you if he knew what I was?”

Bucky paled. “Clint. No. Just. No. That’s not it. Well, maybe the second part, a little. You said so yourself. This is a LOT to unpack. I don’t know what he’ll think about this.”

“It’s okay. If he comes back, I can make myself scarce?”

Bucky shook his head, and just as Clint backed up from the doorway, Bucky reached over and snapped his fingers around his wrist to pull him back. “Please don’t. Please, Clint. Just. Please?”

A slow smile spread across Clint’s face. “You sure?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky admitted. “But. I’ve introduced him to worse people. And he’s never been afraid to give me shit about it, either.”

“I think Steve-O and I are gonna get along real well, then, Bucky!” Clint clapped Bucky’s shoulder. “Here. Throw on a little man juice.” He picked up Bucky’s bottle of Paco Rabanne cologne and spritzed some in the vague vicinity of his chest and neck. “There you go.”

“We good?”

“Eh. Hm.”

“What?”

“Your aura’s flaring. It’s fun to watch. But. Hey. Need a little pick-me-up?”

Bucky nodded, and Clint stepped into his space, giving him a hug that immediately threw a blanket of calm over him, dampening the panicked voices in his head. Clint smelled so good, and Bucky felt as well as heard his low chuckle.

“Why are you so easy?”

“Shut up and cuddle me.”

“And _bossy_.”

“Okay. That’s enough. You’ll wrinkle me. It took forever to iron this.”

Bucky turned one last time to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear. “Okay. This is as good as its gonna get.”

Clint shook his head and looped an arm around Bucky’s shoulders, grinning at his reflection in the mirror. “No, it’s not.” Then, he snapped his fingers.

Bucky blinked, then swore.

“WhatthefuckClintWHATTHEFUCK?!”

“Huh? Yeah? Nice, right?” Clint leaned over and pinched Bucky’s cheek. “You like?”

“What did you _do_ to me?”

“Took a snapshot of your aura. Then Instagram filtered it a little. This is you. Part of you, anyway.”

Bucky stepped back from the mirror and ran his hands down the sleeves of the handsome, slate blue suit jacket, gingerly touching the printed sweater, the cuff of the silk shirt. He flicked his fingers over the back of his hair, now stylishly short and revealing the elegant line of his neck and well-shaped ears. Bucky gaped at his reflection. Then at Clint.

“You-you just-”

“We’ve got to go meet the Lyft,” Clint reminded him.

“Clint! Have you always been able to do this?”

“Eh.”

“So you didn’t need to keep stealing my clothes?”

“C’mon. I can make myself look like this instead of all pointy? That didn’t give you a clue that maybe I could rearrange the molecules of whatever’s available and conjure clothes?”

“You’ve been stealing all my underwear!”

“Well, no _shit_. Because it’s _nice_.”

Bucky fumed. “Could you warn me before you give me a haircut? God, I feel naked.”

“Hey, you’re the one who’s got hangups about nudity, pal. Let it all hang out. The real you. This is James Buchanan Barnes, one badass motherfucker. You’re gonna make heads turn, mingle, drink booze and reminisce about the good ol’ days, and let ‘em know what they’ve all been missing.”

“My shitty job, my nervous breakdown, and no discernible accomplishments? Sure.”

“We’re gonna work on that. C’mon. Our ride’s here.”

*

 

“How are we doing this?” Clint asked as they exited the car and paid the driver. Bucky felt the urge to hide as people began to fill the hotel lobby. He saw a few people who he vaguely recognized, but who he was unsure of whether to approach (yet).

“Need a little liquid courage?”

“This place has an iffy bar.”

“Yeah, but I know the bartender. C’mon. I’ll take care of you.”

Bucky felt a frisson of excitement mingled with fear at that claim.

Bucky signed the guestbook “James Barnes and Guest” and looked at the table of photo buttons laid out as favors. It took him all of three seconds to find his own. The music pumping from the speakers greeted them at the door, making nostalgia fill Bucky’s chest.

“Whoa. Holy hair gel, Batman.”

“Everybody was doing that with their hair.”

“Is that a sun visor flipped upside down?”

“Leave me alone. It was cool.”

“Tell me who’s been filling your head with those foul lies.”

Bucky pinned the button to his lapel and elbowed Clint. “Quit yanking my chain and get us some drinks.”

Clint grinned. “That, I can do.”

Clint worked his way through the crowd, drawing appreciative and intrigued glances from the crowd as he passed. Bucky suppressed a tiny smile. Okay. He brought a hot date, even though Clint wasn’t really his date. But, for all appearances, they made a decent entrance.

“BUCKY?!”

“Spoke too soon,” Bucky hissed under his breath, and he turned toward the raucous voice, course and cracked with hard living.

“Flash. Hey, buddy. What’s shaking?”

Flash Thompson grinned, flashing whitened, invisaligned teeth and catching Bucky’s fingers in a crushing handshake that included the kind of shoulder-to-shoulder bro hug that these occasions demanded. “You got yourself a personal shopper? Look at you!”

“Just a little something I threw together,” Bucky lied. “How’ve you been?”

“You’d know if you ever joined the group chat I sent you the link for,” Flash complained, but there was no malice in his eyes. “You went to NYU, right?”

“More or less.”

“Yeah, I hear that.” Flash took a swig of his microbrew and then promptly dragged Bucky to a crowded table close to the edge of the tiny dance floor. “Guys! Look who I found!”

Bucky cringed, but he managed his best smile that he saved for job interviews and awkward confrontations on the bus.

“Bucky Barnes?!” That was Mary Jane, who Bucky remembered as one of Flash’s girlfriends from freshman year. They ended up splitting up, and she started dating that Parker kid from Chess Club once his voice finally cracked. She got up and gave Bucky a perfumed hug, and he spat out a strand of her blown-out auburn hair that immediately crept into his face with the close contact.

“Looking good, MJ.”

“Same. This is nice. Is this from Trunk Club?”

“Uh. No.”

“Hm.” She fingered the edge of his lapel. “Give me your tailor’s business card, then. I have some things I need to have altered once I can go through my closet.”

Bucky felt like he was talking at a shout over the sound of Britney Spears’ “Womanizer” but then felt equally awkward when he had to lean in closer in order to lower the volume of his voice or hear anyone else. Everyone was hugging him. Touching the suit. Touching his hair. Hanging on him. Bucky began to sweat in the suit and sweater, even though the room wasn’t heated that high.

Clint finally showed up with a beer for Bucky and a fruity-looking drink for himself served in a short tumbler.

“What is that? Why does it smell like Skittles?”

“Gummy bear. It’s delicious. I’ll go back and get you one, if you want. Hey.” Clint nodded around the table at Bucky’s friends. 

Then, Clint slid his arm around Bucky’s waist. Bucky felt a moment of panic that quickly squelched itself as Clint’s calming pheromones wrapped themselves around him. Every pair of eyebrows around the table rose up, and Clint gave Bucky a little shake.

“C’mon. Introduce me, babe.”

“Uh, this. This is Clint. Clint Ba-buhb-”

“Barton,” Clint supplied, coaching Bucky with a glance. “Ain’t he cute? He’s had a long day. Makes him forgetful.”

“I’m a basket case when I haven’t eaten,” Bucky reminded him, since he hadn’t yet.

“Here’s your starter. Beer counts as carbs, Buck-O.”

“Technically.” Bucky took a grateful sip.

“Did you go to-”

“I didn’t go to school around here,” Clint supplied for MJ, who smiled as she waited for an explanation. “ _Anywhere_ around here.”

“Oh. Out of the state, then?”

“Waaaaaay out,” Clint joked. Bucky raised his brows in clear warning, but Clint just smiled pristinely.

“Clint works in customer relations.”

“Kind of a jack of all trades,” Clint supplied around the rim of his glass. His arm was still wrapped around Bucky, and he felt so warm and steadying, even when he was feeding Bucky’s old classmates a line of bullshit. “I’ve got a commitment to making sure the customer is always satisfied, and I get the job done. Whatever it takes.”

Bucky felt himself shiver.

“Don’t we all?” Flash joked, elbowing Harry, one of the popular kids Bucky remembered from impromptu parties when his dad was out of town. Bucky had smoked weed out behind his poolhouse and sunbathed atop his roof one weekend and came home with a miserable allover sunburn. 

“What’s makin’ you smile like that, Buck-O?” Clint murmured.

“Nothing,” he lied.

“Bet it’s awesome. I never see you look like that.”

Bucky bit his lip and shook his head.

“I’ll get it outta you at some point.”

“Try all you want.”

“Ooh, you’re just so _cute_.” Clint reached up and pinched Bucky’s cheek again. “Gonna get another drink. Want one of the same?”

“I kinda want something less “beerish.”

“I gotcha covered.” Clint sauntered off again, leaving Bucky with more curious glances than he could shake a stick at.

“Are you two…?” Mary Jane made little motions between the two of them.

“Oh. No. Not. No. We’re friends. We just. Have a working relationship.”

Did demonic blood bonds fall into that category?

Bucky felt panic rising up again once Clint left his side. His collar felt too tight and he began to fidget.

“Bucky,” MJ whispered as she leaned in, “do you want a Valium? I have a few spares in my purse.”

He shook his head. “Maybe just a refill, whenever Clint gets back.”

“He’s taking his time.”

That was when Bucky realized that Clint had disappeared.

*

 

“Ow! Ow! OW! The fuck! OW!” Clint hissed as Nat jerked him along, pinching the nerve in his upper arm, hard enough to sting. “The _fuck!_ C’mon, Nat! What’s your damage?”

“What are you doing here?” she hissed.

“What’m I doing here? Taking care of my host! Why are you here?”

“Well, why do you _think_?” Natasha motioned back toward the main dining and dancing area from the small back hallway she’d pulled him into, just off to the side of the rest rooms. “I’m on an assignment.”

“Seriously?”

“High school reunions? My host needed a trophy girlfriend to bring in on his arm?” Nat motioned to her royal blue dress and cruel-looking heels. “I don’t just throw on Zac Posen every day.”

Clint made a metsa-metsa gesture. “Hm. Not bad.”

“You almost look _presentable_ for a change.” Nat’s brows turned into check marks. “Who’s been checking you over before you leave the house?”

“I just listened to my host. And I told you, Natty, I make this work.”

“I said _presentable_. That’s barely a compliment, Barton.”

“You’re not telling me that is _isn’t_.”

“It’s just so… pastel.”

“I’m a Spring.”

“A Spring. _Clint._ You’re a _demon_.”

“Who’d you come with, anyway?”

“That charming gentleman over by the bar in the brown suit,” she told him. Clint’s eyes followed the direction of her slender hand, and he huffed.

“Okay. You never get to lecture me about my assignments again.”

Nat rolled her eyes.

“I mean it, Natty. For the love of all that’s morally corrupt... “

“He’s not any worse than any of your assignments, Clentehalzebub!”

“The hell he ain’t!”

Nat threw up her hands.

“How did that guy even get a hold of a spell?”

“How do _any_ of them?” 

“Has he asked you even one question about yourself yet?”

“Not a one.”

Clint made a pitying noise.

“Where’s yours?” Nat accused. “This guy must be pretty hopeless if you’re still urging him.”

Clint looked affronted. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Maybe he’s not as hopeless as you think.”

“Really?” Nat scoffed. Clint, never subtle, jabbed his finger in Bucky’s direction. Nat huffed a laugh, but once her eyes fixed themselves on the attractive brunet, her smile dropped.

“What?..?”

“Hey. When you’ve got it, you’ve got it.”

“That’s your host?”

“Ain’t he cute?”

“Why is his aura flaring like that?”

“Oh, he just does that when he’s… oh, shit. Right. I’ve gotta go.”

“What’s up with you?” Nat narrowed her eyes as she caught Clint’s arm and spun him around to face her.

“Nothing! Hey, I’m working! You should be, too!”

“Don’t you give me that!”

“I’ve gotta get back to him before his friends start grilling him.”

“Are you that worried?”

“He doesn’t like it!”

“Oh, he doesn’t, does he?” Natasha raised her brows again and folded her arms beneath her breasts.

“No. He doesn’t.” Clint’s eyes jerked around the corridor, and then he yanked Nat back from the doorway. “Look,” he hissed, “whatever you’re thinking of doing, Natty, _stop thinking it_ and mind your own goddamned business.”

“Goddamned business is always my business. Even yours. Gotta love that Void connection, Clint. It’s quaint that you still go by a name that your little pet human gave you.”

“He’s my host. Knock it off.”

“Why are you being so protective of him?”

“M’not.” Clint shrugged and waved her off. “Go back to your little incel accountant over there and listen to him tell you how he can’t find anyone ‘on his level’ for the next two hours. Order the _good_ drinks, too.”

Nat threw up her hands. “Find, then. Just stay in your lane, Clint. Don’t go getting any dumb ideas. Or at least not any dumber than usual.”

Clint stuck out his tongue at her. He turned on his heel and left, fresh out of comebacks and fucks to give.

Because it was Nat.

Bucky looked like he was fraying around the edges by the time Clint got back. A young woman named Candy was talking to him about stock options and life insurance. 

“Hey. I’ve come to collect my best guy, here. I’m taking him to the bar,” Clint announced easily. The bar was already crowded and all of the stools were occupied.

“We have room for you over here,” MJ argued.

“We need to stretch our legs a little,” Clint offered.

“Oh, that’s fine!”

“Whatever.” Flash shrugged as he down half his beer, thirsty from oversharing to Bucky about this third ex-wife and his child support payments, his Lamborghini that he’d had to sell, and a crown he had to put on his left molar after breaking it on a walnut in his salad.

As Clint and Bucky wove their way through the crowd, Harry’s date, Gwen, wondered aloud, “And those two _aren’t_ dating? I’m getting datey vibes from them.”

“Bucky wouldn’t tell us shit even if they were,” Harry pointed out. “He’s never really been all ‘Hey, look at me!’”

“He’s really not,” MJ agreed.

 

Clint and Bucky sidled up to the bar. Clint reached up and touched the temple of one of the guests, and his eyes glazed over for a moment. Then, he got up and left. Clint promptly nudged Bucky onto the vacated stool. Bucky’s look of confusion disappeared when Clint motioned to the bartender, who slid a lemon drop martini across the counter.

“Not a beer,” Clint told him cheerfully.

“I like these!”

“I kinda guessed that.” The bartender slid Clint another Gummy bear shot, and Clint handed him a twenty. 

“I ran into my ninth grade math teacher a little while ago. She was pretty cool.”

“Nice.”

“I’m just glad my shop teacher didn’t show up.”

“Who was he?”

“Mr. Schmidt.” Bucky made a face.

Clint chuckled.

“It’s funny,” Bucky murmured as he sipped his lemon drop martini. “I used to think that Mr. Schmidt was the Anti-Christ.”

“Nope,” Clint assured him. “Minor demon. He loved the lack of impulse control from the high school demographic. Made it a helluva lot easier to do his job, y’know?”

Bucky’s eyes bulged. “Seriously?”

“Yup.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I shit you not.” Clint gulped down his Gummy Bear shot and shrugged his shoulders.

“That. That explains so much.”

They both threw back their drinks, and Bucky just enjoyed the warmth that suffused his chest. And that radiated from the man standing at his side.

“Hey.”

“What?”

“Let’s go dance. I feel like cutting a rug.”


End file.
